


yu ste meizen (yu ste klir)

by orphan_account



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Trans Lexa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-15
Updated: 2016-05-15
Packaged: 2018-06-08 12:26:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6854575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lexa's never been so scared in her life, but Clarke assures her that she's got nothing to be afraid of.</p><p>or</p><p>Clarke finds out that Lexa is trans.</p>
            </blockquote>





	yu ste meizen (yu ste klir)

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I've seen so many G!P Lexa fics and while I love them to death, I wanted to ensure that not every fic was sexualizing that part of Lexa. I hope this does the job.

“Jeez, Kane worked us hard today,” Octavia groans, pulling at her shirt. The gray v-neck clings to her damp skin in the worst of places, leaving unsightly dark patches all over the thin material. Her face is covered in a thin sheen of sweat that gleams under the florescent locker room lights.

“It’s strength training, O,” Raven deadpans, already pulling her tank over her head. She fumbles with her lock with one hand as she tries to strategically weasel her way out of her shirt. She’s a tangled mess, but somehow, she’s still managing. Clarke decides it best to simply let her go and reaches toward her own lock as people file through behind her.

“Lord give me the _strength_ not to punch your insensitive face,” Octavia mutters, pulling the sweaty articles of clothing off her body. Clarke wrinkles her nose in mock disgust, fanning at the air. Octavia rolls her eyes and threatens to toss her socks at the blonde, a threat which she does not take lightly.

“Her face is sensitive, actually. Do you know how easily she bruises?” Clarke says, deflecting the attention away from the menacing brunette next to her. Raven sighs and shrugs her shoulders, unable to deny the accusation. She reaches in for her perfume and promptly douses herself in it, leaving the scent of Victoria’s Secret on Clarke’s exposed skin.

“Ugh. I feel so nasty. I wish I had time to shower,” Octavia says, shuddering slightly as she pulls a dry shirt on over her still sticky skin. Clarke sympathizes with her for a moment before grinning.

“Sucks not to have study hall right after this, huh?”

The snarky blonde is rewarded with a swift, moderately strong blow to the shoulder, and she knows she’ll likely be left with a bruise or a welt by the end of the day. This is nothing abnormal, however. For Clarke and her friends, it’s just a Tuesday. She simply stretches her shoulder out for a moment, then grabs for the towel folded up at the bottom of her locker.

“You’re annoying. See you tonight,” Octavia says, gathering up all of her things. She sighs in discontent as her bookbag presses up against her back, but does not vocalize her concerns this time.

Raven is soon to follow, and she tosses her bag across her shoulder quickly. As she takes a step forward, she winces slightly. Though she’s capable of doing strength training, every day does a number on her leg and Clarke can only hope that its condition doesn’t worsen because of it.

“Adios, Clarkey,” Raven calls as she hobbles away, and Clarke calls something back in return.

Soon after, the rest of the students left in the locker room clear out, leaving the area silent save for the electric hum of the lights. Clarke sighs, grateful for the quiet. She reaches for her towel, then heads directly for the showers.

As warm, soon soapy water flows over the blonde’s shoulders and back, she begins to finally feel clean. The sweat and dirt from the hard training session just minutes before is all but gone, draining into the drain underneath her feet. Finally, her skin and hair feel much less oily and she’s satisfied with her cleanliness. Somewhat against her will, as the warm water is an enticing mistress that pleads for her to stay, Clarke turns off the water and reaches her hand out to grab her towel.

Once the shark printed cloth is wrapped tightly around her chest, covering her torso and the top of her thighs, she deems it safe to walk back to her locker. She prays silently that no one has decided now to be a good time to come into the room as she trudges back to where her clothes lie, her feet splashing with each dripping step.

Just as she’s about to reach the portion of the room where her locker resides, Clarke notes that she has roughly forty minutes before she has to go to her final class period of the day.

She continues splashing toward her locker, and when she rounds the bend, the sight before her is one she isn’t prepared to see for several reasons.

Reason number one. It’s Lexa Woods, the girl she’s been crushing on for months now, who, Clarke now realizes, has the finest and most toned ab muscles she’s ever seen.

Reason number two, Lexa is shirtless.

Reason number three, Lexa is pantsless.

Reason number four, Lexa is wearing only boxers and a bra.

Clarke gulps hard, her mouth suddenly dry. She swirls her tongue around searching desperately for something to take away the sudden dryness, but she is met with nothing. Her heart thuds in her chest as she backs away slowly, intending to sneak of unseen. She’d hide, wait until she hears Lexa leave, then she would go get dressed. Foolproof.

The blonde proves herself to be a fool, however, as she backs into a bench leaning against the far wall. It makes a loud thump and creaks slightly, immediately giving away her presence. She lets out a sigh and closes her eyes for a moment.

When she opens them, having closed them for hardly a second, Lexa whips around on her heels. Her emerald green eyes are as wide as saucers, and her mouth is slightly open. Clarke bites back the urge to sigh at how beautiful she looks in that moment. Instead, she lets her eyes cruise around the half-naked woman standing in front of her.

It takes but three seconds for Clarke to look down and notice the bulge pressing against the buttons of Lexa’s boxers. She isn't even given time to react before Lexa tears past her, knocking her backward into the bench. She lets out a gasp as she falls, landing on the hard wooden surface with a painful thud. She registers the sound of a stall door slamming shut and a lock clicking before the pain in her backside kicks in.

“Shit,” she whispers, realizing what just happened. She pushes herself up off of the bench slowly, trying not to make too much noise. She then rounds the corner, the chill of her shoulder brushing against the cold brick eliciting a shiver from her body.

Lexa has locked herself in the smallest stall in the farthest corner of the room. Carefully, Clarke falls to her hands and feet and peeks underneath the stalls. She sees the brunette leaned against the barrier between the two stalls facing the toilet, her knees pulled in close to her chest.

Clarke tightens the towel around her chest, knowing she likely should have grabbed her clothes before coming over here. Her thoughts were preoccupied by the brunette, however, and she isn't about to leave her there alone, even if for a few moments. She’ll make do.

She tiptoes toward the stall and gently lowers herself to the ground, leaning expertly against the stall barrier so as not to flash the mirror in front of her. She freezes, waiting for Lexa to scamper away hurriedly once her presence is noticed, but nothing happens. Her muscles relax and she lets out a silent sigh.

For a minute or two, neither one speaks. The only sounds are that of their simultaneous breathing and Lexa’s occasional sniffles. Clarke's heart clenches as she realizes that Lexa’s crying.

“I'm sorry,” the brunette whispers. Her voice, usually quiet but strong, now sounds cracked and quivering. Clarke sighs, wanting nothing more than to reach over and take the brunette’s hand.

“Lexa, you don't have to be sorry,” she says. Lexa shuffles.

“Yes, I do. I don't want to make anyone uncomfortable.”

“Who said I was?”

This quiets the brunette and Clarke alike. Lexa shuffles again, but this time, it sounds like she's relaxing a little instead of tensing. Clarke is grateful for the change, no matter how small.

“Can I ask questions?”

Lexa pauses, and Clarke immediately begins kicking herself for even thinking she could say that. She isn’t given long to beat herself up, however, because Lexa interrupts her.

“Yes.”

The blonde takes in a deep breath, steadying herself. Her eyes flit up to the clock on the wall, telling her she still has about half an hour before they have to leave. _Good._

“I know there’s a lot of different explanations,” Clarke says, stumbling over her words. She wants to ask questions without offending the brunette, and she’s afraid that there’s just not a good way to ask what she wants to know. “What is yours?”

“I was born Alex,” Lexa says simply. Clarke allows herself a small grin, her heart feeling less heavy at the way Lexa’s voice has softened.

“Did some rearranging?” the blonde jokes tentatively. Lexa hums in return, and the blonde almost wishes she could see the smile that she hopes is on Lexa’s face. All she wants is to find a way to calm the brunette, and she hopes this is working.

“More or less,” Lexa replies. She shifts once again, sitting up. Clarke turns her head and sees that the brunette has settled herself into a crosslegged position.

“When did you know?”

Lexa pauses again, likely thinking of her response. Clarke waits patiently, adjusting her own position to relieve the ache of her bones digging into the tile floor. Her hair drips every so often, leaving small puddles around her.

“I always did,” Lexa says. “Not in the sense that I always played with dolls instead of race cars. I loved race cars.”  
Clarke chuckles quietly, imagining a little Lexa running around the house with a race car in her hand.

“So how did you know, then?” she asks, and Lexa sighs.

“I just did. I didn’t like being called a boy, or he. For as long as I can remember, I’ve insisted that my name is Lexa,” she says. She chuckles to herself for a moment, then continues. “When I started writing Lexa instead of Alex, my parents were convinced I was dyslexic. Had me tested and everything.”

“Ha..dysLEXic,” Clarke attempts. She can practically hear the eye roll as Lexa mutters a ‘shut up’ and reaches her hand blindly around the stall door, trying to make contact in order to swat the blonde for her ridiculous pun. Clarke only giggles as Lexa barely brushes against the towel.

A comfortable silence settles over the two of them, now, but it reveals the way Lexa’s still sniffling. Clarke knows there’s really no way she can make it stop and simply waits for the next question to pop into her mind.

“When did you start transitioning?”

“A few years ago. I didn’t go the hormone route. I don’t know if I ever will, but if I do, I’ll wait until I’m older.”

“So what did you do?”

“Surgeries.”

Clarke nods, then realizes that Lexa can’t see her. She sighs, deciding the answer doesn’t exactly warrant a response.

“Are you going to get any more?”

She asks the question tentatively, hoping that the brunette on the other side of the barrier will understand the question behind her question.

“Would you judge me if I said no?”

Clarke bites her lip at the way Lexa’s voice quivers again. She knows the answer without having to talk about it.

“No, Lex. I wouldn’t.”

Clarke can hear Lexa’s breath shudder as she slowly lets it out in a long, drawn out exhale.

“Does anyone else know?”

“No one outside the family.”

“How have you managed to keep hidden all this time? I’m sure it can’t be easy.”

Lexa chuckles, louder this time. It makes Clarke’s heart flutter unexpectedly, and she brushes it off as the brunette responds.

“Very, very carefully.”

Clarke grins, again readjusting her position. She longs for the relief of standing to soothe the ache in her legs, but she knows she can handle sitting for a few minutes more. She wants to sit talking to Lexa for as long as the brunette needs it.

She’s drawn out of her miniature trance by the sound of a sniffle followed by a few rapid intakes of breath, then a long but shaky exhale. Clarke’s heart aches all over again, and she has to stop herself from crawling under the stall door right then.

When Lexa lets out what sounds like a stifled sob, she can’t take it anymore.

“Can I crawl under?”

Lexa flashes a thumbs up under the door, and Clarke’s eyes are immediately drawn to the droplets resting on her fingers. She has to stifle a pained whine as she crawls beneath the stall door, slowly and carefully, and rests next to Lexa.

Her head is resting in the space created by her arms wrapping around her knees. She’s curled herself into what is essentially an upright fetal position, and her body shakes with suppressed cries. The tips of her ears have turned a bright red.

For a moment, Clarke only sits there. Her eyes scan over the brunette, and she begins to notice the little things. The very edges of scars peek out from beneath her sports bra and from the edge of her throat. Small details of her build, such as the broadness of her shoulders and the size of her muscles, become more apparent. Still, Clarke thinks, she’s the most beautiful woman she’s ever seen.

Her eyes are tracing the edge of Lexa’s Calvin Klein’s when the brunette finally speaks.

“Do I disgust you?”

Clarke barely has time to think before she’s throwing an arm around Lexa’s shoulders, tensing only when she realizes what she’s done. Lexa freezes for a moment, then relaxes into the blonde’s touch. She leans sideways and rests her head in the crook of Clarke’s neck. Clarke can see the tears dripping off her chin still, and she tightens her grip on the girl ever so slightly.

“You amaze me,” Clarke says, her voice low and comforting. “Do you realize how brave you are? How strong?”

The brunette’s body stills and begins to shake, and Clarke can just barely make out the way her brows furrow. She knows that Lexa’s tears are back again, but this time, she hopes that they’re happy tears. Her thumb rubs absently across Lexa’s bare upper arm, and she leans her head into Lexa’s.

“I always thought something like this would go badly,” the girl whispers. “I didn’t expect this.”

“Surprise,” Clarke replies, feebly attempting to bring some humor to the situation. It must work even if only a bit, because the blonde can feel Lexa smiling. Her cheek pushes into Clarke’s shoulder.

“I think you’re amazing, Lexa,” Clarke whispers. “Getting up every day, facing what it’s like to have been born into a body that isn’t yours. And still, yet, you get through, keeping that smile on your face.”

“Don’t give me so much credit, Clarke,” Lexa says, and Clarke thinks she’s going to melt at the way Lexa’s tongue clicks on the ‘k’ of her name.

_Get it together, Griffin. This is about Lexa, not you._

“You deserve it, Lex.”

“Since when did you call me Lex?”

Clarke’s face goes red, and as Lexa looks up, tearful eyes, snotty nose and all, she grins. Clarke feels her blush spread, leaving her chest and above in a likely unflattering shade of pink.

“Relax. It’s sweet,” Lexa says, her voice coming out steadier than before. Clarke breathes a sigh of relief, and whether it’s for herself or Lexa, she doesn’t know.

A comfortable silence falls over the two of them now, and for a moment, they simply sit there enjoying each other’s company. Suddenly, as Clarke glances down at the towel wrapped around her, a realization dawns on her.

“Hey, Lex?”

“Hmm?”

“We should probably put on some clothes.”

Lexa looks down, then over to Clarke, and she allows herself a true laugh. It is music to Clarke’s ears, and she is reluctant to pull her arm away. However, time beckons for them to get around, so she slowly snakes her arm back toward her. She pulls herself up to a standing position slowly, willing the towel around her chest to stay in place. She holds on hand out and pulls Lexa up, too, leaving them both standing and stretching their aching limbs.

Before she can stop herself, Clarke’s eyes drift downward, again tracing the hem of Lexa’s boxers. The second her eyes dip downward still, she darts them up, meeting Lexa’s. The brunette’s cheeks have turned a dark shade of red, and she starts to turn in embarrassment.

Clarke instinctively reaches out her hand and grabs Lexa’s shoulder, flipping her back around.

“You’re beautiful,” she whispers, both her hands finding their way to Lexa’s upper arms. The brunette’s eyes glimmer again in the florescent lights above them, and she slowly begins to relax. She leans forward, and Clarke wraps her arm around the girl’s frame. Lexa’s arms hesitantly snake around Clarke’s middle, and when the blonde doesn’t react, she tightens her hold.

“You’re beautiful,” Clarke repeats. Lexa sighs and lets her head fall forward onto the blonde’s shoulder.

They stay that way for a few moments, neither one speaking or moving. The only sensations are the sound of their synchronized breaths and the sensation of warm skin pressed against each other.

It is Lexa who breaks the silence this time.

“Have you ever seen…?”

Her voice trails off, and Clarke has to bite back a grin at the way she can actually feel Lexa’s face heat up. She knows where the question is going, however, and decides to spare her crush the embarrassment. When the realization of the reality of Lexa’s words hit her, her own face begins to heat up again, too.

“No. Have you?”

Lexa shakes her head against Clarke’s shoulder, and Clarke lets out a heavy sigh. Her heart is suddenly racing, and her knees feel like they could give out beneath her without warning. Judging by the tremors coursing through the girl embracing her, she is not alone.

“Don’t be afraid,” Lexa whispers, despite her own fear. Clarke grins at the girl’s fearless nature and gently pulls back. Lexa follows suit, and soon, the two are facing each other once again, only a few feet apart this time.

“Do you want-”

“Yeah, I think it’d-”  
“That’s good, ‘cause I-”

Both girls pause, realizing they’re stumbling over their words. Grins spread across their cheeks, and they let out nervous chuckles.

“On three?”

Lexa snorts, and Clarke juts her lip out in a pout. This wipes the grin off the brunette’s face, and she replaces it with a serious expression as best she can. She nods.

“One.”

“Two.”

Clarke gulps, and her eyes never leave Lexa’s.

“Three.”

Lexa hooks her thumbs in the waistband of her boxers and begins to slowly pull on them as Clarke begins to hike up her towel. Neither one dares to look down, their eyes locked and widened. Clarke can see Lexa swallow hard, and her mouth goes dry.

“Together?”

“Together.”

Clarke drops her eyes, and she can’t help the gasp that escapes her lips. Lexa has a similar reaction, and they stay that way for a while, lips parted and eyes unmoving.

Clarke is the first to speak.

“Like I said, Lexa,” she whispers, barely trusting her voice. “Beautiful.”

“As are you, Clarke.”

The sudden realization of the passing time snaps Clarke out of her daze, and she hurriedly opens the stall door to look at the time. She lets out a sigh of relief when she sees ten minutes still left before they had to go to their next period.

When she turns back around, Lexa has pulled her boxers back up, and she’s adjusting the waistline to her content.

“You ready to get around?” Clarke asks, willing herself to be steady. Her body fails her, however, as her hands still shake.

“I am,” Lexa says. The brunette approaches her slowly, legs visibly trembling. As they walk the short distance back to the area where their lockers reside, Clarke doesn’t question why Lexa slips her fingers into the blonde’s own.


End file.
